


dynamic

by betp



Series: From Tumblr [15]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-03 01:27:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15808527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betp/pseuds/betp
Summary: Stiles has urgent, zodiacal, star-crossed news for Derek.





	dynamic

There's a frantic knocking at Derek's door at ten in the morning. He wants to ignore it, but he doesn't. It's Stiles, which is statistically likely, and which is why Derek answered the door. Stiles is holding a newspaper, hands crumpling it in panic. "I need to tell you something," is what he blurts the second the door is all the way open. He smells good.

"What," begins Derek. That's all he can come up with.

"I realized something," Stiles tells him, hoarse.

Derek doesn’t consider Stiles a friend; but now that he thinks about it, he’s not sure why. How often does he see him? That is a rhetorical question. Derek sees him a lot. He thinks he sees him more often than he is alone. He thinks he is with Stiles more often than he is _not_ with Stiles.

"I read my horoscope every day," Stiles admits, now trying to straighten out the newspaper. "Everywhere I can get it. I get it in the paper and in my email… I read jokes about it on twitter…"

"You," Derek tells him for the thousandth time, "are ridiculous." Derek's never met anyone as superstitious as Stiles has become. To be fair, Stiles is not that superstitious; he’s just neurotic enough that Derek's noticed. He also smells really good right now.

"Yeah," Stiles waves this observation away as he looks for a specific page. It’s irrelevant and he’s heard it before. "I realized something," he says again. "I check _your_ horoscope too."

Derek stares blankly. This information sinks slowly in, like the difference between milk and heavy cream in your coffee. "Mine?" he asks suspiciously. Derek thinks he might not even _know_ his sign.

Stiles must. "Capricorn," he says, folding the paper and presenting it. "Every day." Derek takes the paper. It says something about a stirring revelation. Each horoscope is rated with stars on a scale of one to five, five stars being the most "dynamic." He has five stars today. After a brief, desperate, and expectant pause, Stiles fumbles his phone out of his jacket pocket (he pats and searches several other pockets first) and scrolls on it. Then he proffers it. There is a tweet open on it. It has a stock photo of some guy with a girl, only he’s checking out another girl? And the first girl is labeled "emotion," the guy is "Capricorn," and the other girl is "distancing yourself and pretending to be heartless for the rest of your life." Derek gets the implication and feels a little revealed, but mostly just annoyed. The tweet has been "liked" by Stiles. Derek looks dubiously at Stiles. "Honestly, it’s uncanny," says Stiles with something like a smile going into his eyes, curling into the side of his mouth. It fades momentarily, however.

"Stiles," says Derek. "Are you making fun of me?"

Stiles shakes his head. He says, "I don’t joke about this."

About the _zodiac_? That is patently false. "Yes, you do."

"No. I'm in love with you," Stiles says instead of engaging, looking fiercely into Derek's eyes. "I love you." He won't be deterred. He does tend to drill in on one thing sometimes, uninterested in anything but what he's looking at. Derek's always liked that about him. Derek's also always found brown eyes attractive. "I love you like crazy," Stiles goes on, taking a step forward. He takes his phone back. "I love you every goddamn day. I read your horoscope _every day_."

Derek doubts that. "Don’t you read _every_ horoscope—"

"No," says Stiles quickly and firmly. He is rigidly honest. "I read Aries, and I read Capricorn." He proffers his phone yet again and he's on the browser. Of several tabs with similar contents, he selects a website that suggests that Capricorn and Aries are well suited. They are compatible: intense, filled with conflict, yet somehow stable. "Nothing else," says Stiles. "I don’t read my dad’s. I don’t even _know_ what Scott's sign is. I know his birthday and I could look it up, but I've never bothered."

"Why…"

"Because I only care about _yours_ —"

"…are you telling me this…" Derek is faltering, because he knows why Stiles is telling him this and he physically cannot absorb that information. It is silt, hovering there in the murky pondwater of Derek's mind. "…now," Derek decides to finish.

"Because I am in _love_ with you," Stiles informs him for the fifth time, and this time it sinks into place with a jolt. His voice cracks at the end of: "As soon as I figured it out, it fucking _rewrote_ _everything_ about how I see my life and I _needed_ you to _know_ it, I wouldn't be able to just go on with this in my head—I think about you all the _time_ —"

The horoscope for Aries that day has four stars, still fairly dynamic. It warns him to keep his ideas close to the vest, however. Aries and Capricorn. Derek looks suddenly up at stiles and the breadth and warmth of him, and sees that he’s tearing up, and realizes something.

"—believe it because I've never even _thought_ about it, I was just scrolling through this chick’s _blog_ because I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep and I was like, _here I go painstakingly seeking out Derek Hale's horoscope again_ —mm—hmmgh nn dm—" Derek's dropped the paper to the floor and taken Stiles’ head in his hands and kissed him, but Stiles is still talking. It takes Derek crowding him against a wall and deepening that kiss until Stiles is effectively gagged for him to finally tucker out. He clings to Derek, needing something to tether him to earth. When Derek pulls back to let him breathe, Stiles has calmed considerably: no less upset, no less shaken, just no longer panicking. And Derek is staring at him, starstruck—lovestruck— "I freaked," Stiles confesses, quiet. "It’s been months. I thought you’d friendzone me."

"I have no clue where Friend Zone is," Derek tells him. "I have no idea what you’re talking about most of the time, and yet I always find myself listening to you."

"Friendzone," Stiles explains breathlessly, "where you categorize—"

" _Almost_ always," Derek interrupts to clarify.

"Okay, fair," says Stiles, smirking and shivering now. His eyes are fluttering a little. "I—I-I don't know what this means, but can we go back to the kissing?" He looks at Derek's mouth. "I liked it. I really, _really—_ "

"Yeah, but first," Derek says, thinking of Stiles with a flashlight and Stiles idly climbing on the railing on a boardwalk in Santa Cruz, and of Stiles trying to eat lo mein with chopsticks, and Stiles sleeping in Derek's car, because he has chronic insomnia but always seems to have no trouble sleeping whenever Derek's around. He thinks of Stiles’ forearms, now covered in a baggy sweatshirt, and Stiles’ eyebrows and his sad, vulnerable eyes.

"I think I've been in love with you for a year," Derek tells him, still looking into his mind: Stiles on a skateboard. Stiles holding a cat. Stiles up in the night, fighting off tears. "Maybe longer." Stiles yelling at Derek. Stiles beating the shit out of somebody because he was a murderer, but primarily because he had Derek by the throat. Stiles hollering patiently into the phone because his grandmother refuses to get hearing aids. Stiles telling Derek about politics and TV shows and the history of the bicycle and some weird type of centipede. Stiles sweaty and flushed in the summer, taking off his scarf in the winter and the line of his neck, and the way he always has to be chewing on something, sucking on something, always has something in his mouth and Derek once wondered if he’s ever had something else in his mouth and for whatever fucking reason, didn’t think to examine that thought any further. And oh, his _hands_ —

Derek’s in love with Stiles. with Stiles _Stilinski_. Of _all_ the goddamn people—

"Oh," Stiles says, knees going a little weak.

"I didn’t notice," Derek admits, this dawning on him still. Standing next to Stiles while Scott tells them something. Standing across the room from Stiles while Scott tells them something. The way any conversation seems to stop when Stiles talks, just for a second. Stiles texting Derek well after midnight to tell him he thinks he's got tonsillitis or pertussis or Aagenaes syndrome ("That's _hereditary_ , you idiot") or some bullshit. How Stiles drops everything to hyperfocus on trying to learn about a new subject, because that subject pertains with any amount of urgency to Derek's life.

"Oh, my god…" Derek can hear Stiles' heart hammering, can see his knuckles white as he clenches fists up against his chest like he's clutching his pearls.

"It was there and I didn’t process it—I have this stupid rolodex of memories of you," he says angrily, Derek's almost _angry_ about this. Derek hates surprises. "I thought about taking your clothes off, and I didn’t—"

"You _what_?"

"I dreamed of you and I—"

"Oh, jesus," says Stiles, blushing wildly and smelling strongly of intense relief and valiant love, " _only you_ wouldn’t notice something like this, like— _what, don’t all acquaintances fantasize about each other_ —"

No, not all, it's just that Derek never really categorized it as _fantasizing_ because he never categorized Stiles as a possibility. But he did think of it: the shape of his ribs and what his skin might taste like, how his wrists might feel under someone's hands. "I thought about holding you down in my bed," Derek remembers.

"Hhholy god, please, _please—_ " Stiles kisses him again, and again, and ultimately again, and etcetera, hands clung in Derek's shirt, knees against Derek's, sighing when Derek tugs that stupid jacket down off his shoulders.

Once again, Derek stops kissing him eventually to look at him, hair already rucked up weird from Derek's hands, mouth red and eyes half shut. When Derek steps back from him, he almost falls back on his foot a little bit, like more of a stumble than a step.

And Stiles doesn't even notice. He just hangs on to one of Derek's hands with one of his own and says, "I _love_ you." He has this weird upward inflection at the end as if he's mid-argument, or as if there's a _but_ at the end of the sentence. There isn't. There's just this: "I hope you know that I'm going to be saying that," he swallows, and then goes on, "a lot. Like, a _lot_. I hope you're ready for that, if you want me, like I want you."

"Yeah, I'm really not interested," Derek says, leading him slowly by the hand toward his bed. "This is me rejecting you."

"Ohh, you're so _bad_ at it," Stiles says. "You're the _worst_ , oh my god…"

"I do," Derek tells him. The fall into bed is a whirl of exhilaration, Stiles dropped onto his bedspread, bright and flushed pink in a room full of muted greys. "Want you." 

"Yeah?" Stiles rasps.

"Yes." And Derek leans down to him.

Later, much later, in the midst of it all, Stiles wonders, "Is this _dynamic_ enough for you?" His voice is hoarse and rough and deep and incredibly hot. He fits angularly and softly into Derek's hands, and the sweat just makes him dewy. Derek wants to keep biting him; and the thought that it's possible, and happening, and desired, and real—it all has Derek shaking and hot.

"I've thought about spooning you," Derek tells him, probably the thirtieth in a series of frank confessions delivered apropos of nothing. "I had a dream about it once."

"I've thought about you spooning me, too, and, ummm…" Stiles sighs as Derek pushes into him. It's not the first time. They've missed lunch. They should probably start thinking about dinner. It's Stiles' turn to confess something: "I stopped drinking Monster because of you… you said you hated it and I wanted you to—" He cuts himself off to laugh sort of joyously. "God, how did I get here… your dick is—" Derek digs sharp nails into Stiles' ribs, because he discovered accidentally about an hour ago that Stiles likes it. "—ohh, _gigantic_ , what the fuck—uh—can you—push me down like you—"

" _Thank_ you for not drinking that dyed swill," Derek tells him, leaning down over his back and pushing a little, deep enough to make him squeak with it. He was being facetious when he said it, but it came out a little more like a moan than an insult.

"Reward me for my sacrifice," Stiles demands, "and _fuck_ me."

Derek's never slept with anybody who communicates during sex. They didn't talk. Derek especially. _Shut up so I can concentrate_ , that was Derek's position on the matter, and it served him well. It takes work to come, and Derek doesn't half-ass anything. Now he wants nothing more than to give Stiles everything he asks for, every pound of it, because for some reason he is in love with him: so he appreciates the direction. He bears down on him so that he's maybe two inches away from being crushed against the mattress.

" _Yyyes_ ," says Stiles, strained and fucking incandescent. "Mmm, can we order a pizza after this—ah—I'll let you get that weird green pepper and ham—" He's such a judgmental weirdo. He arches up against Derek like a slutty cat, and stupidly, chaotically, Derek loves him. Every goddamn inch of him, inside and out and backwards and forwards. He wants to shove him off an ocean liner sometimes and that just makes the love so much better.

He stopped drinking that vile concoction for Derek. Derek remembers that conversation, he said he can smell it coming out of people's pores and they probably taste like acid. Stiles stopped drinking it because he wanted Derek to think he tasted good. He wonders how long they've been senselessly in love, how long they've been ineptly dating each other, how many times something Derek said changed the way Stiles did things. It's impossible to know because it doesn't _look_ like normal love. It hasn't functioned the way it should. And when Derek kissed him, that was his last first kiss. Maybe Stiles doesn't know it yet or they haven't agreed to it yet, but that was it. Derek's actually relieved, the way you are when you finally figure out what dinner you've been craving. And it's actually not green pepper and ham pizza.

"I realized something," says Derek.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ★★★★☆  
> Aries, today you are in for a complex thrill. You have learned something new and what you do with that knowledge will determine its value. Today may seem like a day for revelations and confessions, but it may also benefit you to keep your ideas close to the vest - because more than anything, it is a day for trust. Assess how you trust before you leap and be careful, dear Aries, with your heart.


End file.
